Behind the Mask
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: No one gave a second thought to the masks. After all, they were the least important part of becoming a Death Eater. QLFC Round 7


**Written For:**

QLFC Round 7: Use the movie prompt 'Spiderman 3'. I drew inspiration from this part of the plot - "Peter's Spider-Man suit turns black and takes control of him, not only giving Peter enhanced power but also bringing out the dark side of his personality."

 **Word Count:** 1,304

* * *

 **i.**

The metallic, skull-shaped mask that was handed to Barty was, frankly, the least interesting part of the ceremony. It was nothing compared to the chanting, the burning of his flesh as the Dark Mark was seared into his skin, and the promise of power and glory that would await him should he serve the Dark Lord faithfully.

He barely gave the mask any attention, even as he slipped it onto his head, watching everyone else around him do so. Beside him, Regulus watched with wide, unreadable eyes as he pulled his own mask over his face.

 **ii.**

For Regulus, he didn't feel as though he had any choice.

Sirius had absconded from the family and Walburga burned him from the tapestry before he could have a shot at coming back. As far as she was concerned, Regulus was the sole heir to the family now, the only one who had a chance to bring nobility back to the bloodline. She never openly told Regulus that he should join the Dark Lord, but she spoke wistfully of Bellatrix and her husband for their part amongst His followers. Regulus knew that she was jealous of her brother for raising such a strong-headed daughter like Bellatrix.

There was only one way he could bring pride back to his family, even if it meant giving up everything he secretly stood for.

Barty didn't care about the Dark or the Light sides of the war.

All he cared about was revenge, and scorning his father. When he was joined into the Death Eater circle, he smirked gleefully, thinking of how much this act would offend his abusive father.

 **iii.**

The changes were barely noticeable at first.

Prior to joining the Dark Lord, Regulus and Barty had shared a London flat together in relative harmony. They were intimate, considerate, and had enjoyed each other's company. But after only a few weeks in the Dark Lord's servitude, despite not actually doing any of the more inhumane tasks their peers were taking up, things had grown tense.

Barty was the first one to spiral. He was irritable half the time, moody and ignorant the rest. Regulus tried to talk with him at first, to understand why his mood had declined so considerably, but he soon found himself growing intolerable and short-tempered with Barty—traits he'd never noticed before.

Barty had always been vulnerable and a little unstable. Those were some of the things that had drawn Regulus to Barty when they were in Hogwarts. Back when Barty was sitting alone and Regulus was trying to avoid the fake friends who just wanted to be associated with his bloodline. Until joining the Death Eaters, Regulus had _always_ been patient and tolerable of Barty's fast-changing moods and unusual quirks.

Regulus put it down to nerves and discomfort of the new situation he was in and assumed that Barty was feeling the same way. After all, neither of them _really_ wanted this.

They were both just proving something to their parents—each in their own way.

 **iv.**

Regulus returned home each weekend to have dinner with his parents. They wanted to hear the dark tales of what happened within the Dark Lord's circle, what tasks an honourable Black son had been gifted with. His mother, in particular, expected Voldemort to worship her son for his noble blood.

Regulus didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. If the Dark Lord truly valued his blood over that of his more loyal followers, he didn't make his thoughts known. Both he and Barty were given the much more menial tasks while they were expected to prove their loyalty to the Dark Lord. It would shame Walburga if she knew that his servitude was nothing to write home about.

So, he made a lot of it up. He spun tales of being close to the Dark Lord's inner circle; how he followed him closely in his mission to stamp out those unworthy. It was a dangerous lie, seeing as Bellatrix was close to the Dark Lord, but he knew—or at least, he hoped—that Bellatrix knew better than to shame Walburga.

But during one particular weekend with his parents, he just couldn't face lying, or even talking to them, about being a Death Eater.

He was filled with hatred as he pushed food around his plate with his fork, despising the way Walburga gazed across the dining room at him hungrily. When his parents retired to bed, Regulus remained in the living room, silently brooding as Kreacher milled around the room, levitating the empty plates and dishes into the air.

"Master Regulus is different," he announced gloomily. "He has been for a while now."

"I don't need a running commentary from a _House-Elf,_ " Regulus snapped, and instantly regretted it. He had never been rude to Kreacher, not in the way his parents and Sirius always had been. He'd always felt somewhat sorry for the House-Elf and the way he was kicked around.

"Yes, Master Regulus."

"I'm sorry," Regulus said before Kreacher could slope out of the dining room. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm just so...tired...all the time."

"Master Regulus isn't tired," Kreacher continued. "Master Regulus is cursed."

" _Cursed?"_ Barty repeated after Regulus had told him Kreacher's story.

"It was the masks," Regulus explained. "The ones they gave us when we were initiated. The masks curse you when you put it on. I don't understand it fully, but...the curse makes you harsher—more cruel, even."

"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" Barty snarled.

"Kreacher told me."

"And you believe your House Elf?"

"You don't understand," Regulus hissed. "This thing with the masks...it's one of Bellatrix's ideas. Kreacher overheard her discussing the curse years ago. Frankly, he thinks it's a wonderful idea. He only told me because...because…"

"Because?" Barty raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I guess because I've been so nice to him over the years. He thought I should know." Regulus paused to take a breath. "But it doesn't matter. Barty, Kreacher knows how to remove the curse. We wouldn't be able to do it, but he could with Elf magic. We can be free. We can run away from this, from all of it. _We can be free._ " He reached out to grip Barty's forearm hopefully, his eyes wide.

Barty yanked his arm away, scowling. "What makes you think I want to be free?" he hissed. "What makes you think I want to run away _with you?"_

"This isn't you," Regulus murmured, though he felt pain stab in his heart. "This is the mask. The curse."

"You're crazy," Barty continued. "Jealous, even. That the Dark Lord is noticing me more than you, when _you're_ the one with the so-called noble blood."

"That's not it—"

"I _knew_ you would try to spoil this for me. I knew you would try to ruin things."

"Barty—"

Before Regulus could continue, Barty had pulled back his fist and landed a punch right on Regulus's cheek. He felt the bone crack under Barty's knuckles, and he cringed. "Get out."

 **v.**

It took hours for Kreacher to lift the curse from Regulus. It was complicated magic, even for an Elf. Kreacher had to sit and carefully extract the dark magic from deep within his flesh and skin, drawing it out in long, smoky black tendrils.

With each layer of the curse that was removed, Regulus felt a little bit lighter, until the heavy darkness no longer seemed to be hanging over him. The Dark Mark still burned on his forearm—Kreacher couldn't remove that much—but Regulus still needed that.

"I can still get through to Barty," he said, more to himself than to Kreacher. "I can pretend I'm still under the curse. I can still act like a Death Eater and promise myself to the Dark Lord."

Kreacher nodded slowly.

"I can still save him."


End file.
